The Tourney

Log file from Akallabeth.

Though the hour is late, the square of Ar-Adunakhor is lit almost as though it were day. A large space has been roped off and surrounded by a multitude of torches. Outside the ropes have gathered a vast throng who press as close as they dare to obtain the best possible view of the contest about to begin. The air rings with calls and cries as the people of Umbar and the visiting Numenoreans await with anticipation the opening of the sparring.

A hush falls over the crowd as a figure steps from the row of seats arranged at one end of the arena and raises his hand for silence. "Worthy people of Numenor, and our proud colony of Umbar Tonight we gather to watch the finest fighters of our people battle for our entertainment and the glory of our new governor. In praise of Pharazon, let the contest
begin!"

Amrukhad bows slightly as the cheers rise, but then raises his hand again for silence. "But not only for entertainment and for glory do these men fight tonight." He waves forward a man bearing a large cushion. From this he raises a heavy gold chain. "for the winner tonight," he calls out, "the house of Patantar has donated this trophy, engraved with the
symbols of Pharazon and Umbar for the occasion." Once more he raises his hand to still the cheers as he returns the chain to the cushion. "And now, I announce the opening combat - we have the brave warriors Beltaur and Breanir!" With that, the Lord resumes his seat and settles to watch the contest.

With the announcements of the first participants, a young noble man enters the square. Walking in front of the Lord, he bows respectfully and introduces himself, "I am Breanir, from the House of Isilrim." The young man then awaits for he opponent to come foward.

After the names are given, a figure bearing a great black cloak steps to the ropes then under them, making his way to the center. Upon his head is a studded leather cap, untied but still sitting, while beneath his cloak is the rest of his armour. A quick flip of his hands cause the cloak to billow outward then behind him, flowing in a silk-like motion. Beltaur, as the man is called, reveals his combat outfit conataining his studded leather armour and
deadly longsword that has replaced his spear. He calls out, "I am Beltaur Arnaith, Royal Guardsman to Princess Miriel." He walks further till he is directly ahead of Breanir, then turns to face him.

From one side of the square a chanting arises... "Beltaur... Beltaur..." The man is obviously known to some here. No sooner than that chant has started however, does another arise from the other side... "Breanir... Breanir..." It is not clear though whether these are friends of Breanir's, or simply taking opposition to the first chant.

Amrukhad stands to face the combatants. "I remind you, gentlemen, that this is spar only. You will use these swords..." he indicates an adjutant that comes forward bearing two practice swords, "...for we would not wish to cause damage to Numenor's finest."

Breanir looks at the Guardsman as he walks towards him, studying his every movements. A worthy compatitor indeed, he says to himself as he a small smile appears on his face, without beeing intimiteded by his opponent. Although not very experience in the art of fighting and more of a man of words then swords, the young man had a lot of training growing up at his uncles house. Hearing the words of Amrukhad, he turns to face the Lord and takes one of the practice swords. Carefully examining the dull blade and weighting it's balance, he turns to face Beltaur, "Good luck to you, good sir", he says with a slight bow.

Beltaur approaches the dulled sword that is brought to him. His left hand draws his sword as he takes the practice sword, swapping both of them. "I expect to have that back," he grins at the man delivering the swords. Thoughts jog through his mind when he looks at Breanir, thoughts of how to size up his opponent and what weaknesses he might have. He tilts his head slightly before pulling his studded leather shield from beneath his cloack with his left hand, fastening it tightly before responding to his opponent, "Indeed, sir Breanir. Let us make this spar fun and hope we might controll ourselves," he chuckles as he speaks. Readied, he places his hands at his side and bows to Amrukhad, then turns to Breanir and bows.

The crowd quiets a little in anticipation as the combatants receive their weapons and prepare. One can almost hear the cries of the peddlars hawking their wares to those on the fringes of the crowd. Then one call rings out overloud from the far side of the arena, "What! Blunt swords! I came to see blood!" There is a ripple of laughter and applause that
quickly dies away as the men in the ring take up their positions.

Laughing softly with the sudden out burst, Shayla looks up to the man that spoke out so boldly and jokingly. Turning to face his, she adds in a sarcastic tone, "Oh no, my dear man. I shall not be tending cuts on my day off!" Turning back to the battle on the open stones of the square, Shayla in turn gives a small wink over to Beltaur, crossing her fingers as she watches in anticipation.

Not knowing the strengh and weaknesses of his opponent, Branir takes a basic defense position. He raises his shield in front of him and moves his hand holding the sword slightly backwards. He thens looks into the eyes of Beltaur, his smile dissapearing as he focuses at the task at hand. He waits for the sparing to begin.

Beltaur brings his body to a well-made battle stance; standing sideways with his shield directly ahead and sword brought to his side. His knees give away a little, allowing him to crouch slightly before he leans his head forth and says, "I give you the first attack, m'Lord." A small necklace finds its way form beneath his armour and dangles freely from his neck, shining light off itself with a brilliant display.

With a raucous laugh, the loud man leers at Shayla. "Whack 'em hard enough and there's no need to tend cuts." He quickly turns his attention to the ring though as it appears the contest is about to begin. "Start swingin' lads! Go at 'er!"

With a small nod, he acknowledge the offering. Tighting his grip around the hilt of his sword, Breanir looks carefully at his opponent. With lightning speed, the sword thrusts forward aiming for the small,inprotected area of Beltaur's chest, next to his shield.

Looking back over to the man with a smile, Shayla just shrugs her shoulders and grins; but her attention is not kept for long. She turns about again, lightly saying to herself, "Beltaur... come on, you can do it..." But as the opponent flys off to hit Beltaur at the chest, Shayla just squints and quirks as if waiting for bad news to hit her. Then
with ease, she takes a peek.

Having been carefully watching his opponent, Beltaur reacts with a small amount of ease. He steps quickly to the side and thrusts his shield at the sword, knocking it away from his body. The impact from the weapon knocks the shield back as well, dircely into his shoulder. The man chuckles slightly as he readies himself again, reassuming his position, laughs, "A
mighty tinge I felt there. Concentrate harder and you just might hit!" He raises his sword back, his arm sligtly numbed from the contact of the shield to his shoulder's join, and he brings it down in a slashing arc at Breanir's shield while bringing his shield forth, providing a small amount of protection to his open arm.

The crowd lets out a half-sigh, half-roar as the first strike is made and avoided, and cries of
encouragement for both fighters sound from around the ring - indications of where money has been laid.

Sighing with relief, Shayla grins as the attack is pushed aside, but she just shakes her head as Beltaur starts boastiing, "Beltaur!" she calls, "You ain't going to win by words!" She laughs a little and looking around as she bites her bottom lip, again remains quiet; by now feeling a tad embarrassed by her comment.

Shouts of cheers and boos raise from the crowd as the sound of the sword hitting the shield is heard in the silence that reign just moments before. Slightly off balance the young man, barelly brings his shield up, thrying to block the hit. The powerful slash hits the shield and deviates, partially catching the unprotected shoulder of Breanir. He grimaces from the
small burst of pain. Ignoring the numbeness, he swipes the sword in an arc amming for the legs of Beltaur as answers back, "A well placed shot, remember the fealing you felt well, since it will the last you feel today."He grins as his sword approches the legs of the guardsman.

There is a loud "Aaaahhhh" from the crowd as the first score is made, and the yells of encouragement change tone a little. "C'mon Breanir! Keep that shield up. You can whup that lazy guardsman." From the other side there are tentative cheers. "Keep it up Bel! Good strike!"

A combination of actions occur that cause the Guardsman a small world of grief; Beltaur attacking Breanir, Breanir deflecting his attack, and Shayla calling out to Beltaur. As his sword comes into contact with Breanir's shield, his attention is brought to the familiar voice from the crowd. He feels the weapon make solid contact, reverbirating in his hand, and his oppent speaking, but does not see the oncoming attack for his gaze is fixed upon  Shayla. His face becomes masked with serenity as Breanir's weapon makes a great contact with a knee causing great pain. The Guardsman, still in a forward motion, trips over the sword and lunges toward the ground dropping on his stomach. He quickly rolls to his back, his cloak fluttering as he does, and pushes himself backward with his good leg. Attempting to
stand, he calls forth, "That was a good strike, indeed! But not the last that I shall feel." He props himself on his sword as he stands to his feet, holding his injured leg slightly off the ground. "Again!" he chuckles, readying himself for an attack.

"Ohhh!" The crowd gasps as Beltaur's attention is distracted and he suffers a great blow to the leg. Breanir's supporters cheer wildly and the chant of "Breanir... Breanir..." renews itself.

Breanir noticing the distraction of Beltaur, gins slightly, "The first thing I learned was not to be distracted when in combat". As he speaks, he steps forward bringing his sowrd for high hit, then suddenly bringing it back down towards the side of the guardsman. "...and taking every advantage possible." he adds as the dull blade comes down.

There is near silence on the side of the ring where Beltaur's supporters stand with bated breath, willing him to recover and somehow avoid the blow.

The sword slices the air swiftly, but the Guardsman's leg injury makes no effect on his reaction, for he lashes his sword forward, pivoting his weapon at his wrist. The blade comes to a quick halt a few feet from his side and meets the oncoming weapon, forcing him to hobble to the side to avoid falling again from the force. While in motion, Beltaur takes his shield arm and lashes it at Breanir's wrist with the edge of his shield. He groans, "Good shot, but you're not fast enough!" as a grin curls his lips.

A collective sigh is released from the lips of those who waited as Beltaur's response shows him not out of the contest yet. "Hah! You show him, Bel!" the calls of support pick up force in the face of his seeming recovery. There are groans of frustration from the other side, but hopes are still running high. "Pay up now, man. Your guardsman is more of a lady's man that a swordsman!" Laughter rings out at this comment, and Beltaur's supporters call back, "It's not over yet - experience will tell!"

With the last blow, Shayla jumps up, almost knocking a man in front of her head-over-heel along with his mug of ale. She lets out a loud cheer and smiles to the guys around her, but her smile is cut short when she looks at the man with the ale covering his shirt. With a slight blush, she says, "Oh... beg my pardon sir..." She tries to help him clean up but with
another look of embarrassement, she takes a seat and just smiles over to the two sparring in the center.

Breanir feels his arm twingling as the two weapons meet in mid-air. Out of balamced and surprised by the speed of his opponent, the young man does not react in time to meet the upcoming threat. With incredible force the guard's shield hits Braenir's unprotected
wrist. A cry comes out of the young man, as the surprise and the pain of the hit rush through his body and his sword leaves his hand. Silence covers the square, as the crowed watches the blade drop. Without further pausing, as the sound of metal hiting rock is heard, Breanir rolls away and goes back up a  few steps away from Beltaur. "Good move" the young noble says, as he goes in defensive stance and waits for his opponents move.

"Nooo!!" The cries of agony from the Breanir side are overwhelmed by the cheering from those backing Beltaur. The noise is loud and incoherent as people yell and wave their mugs and cloaks, and whatever else they can lay their hands on.

Beltaur staggers slightly after his attack is successful. He gathers himself, almost stepping on the fallen sword, and places himself in a defensive position. The man looks down at the sword and place his foot beneath the hilt and kicks it upward in the air, aiming it at Breanir as he chuckles, "Catch!" Beltaur gives his injured leg a few good shakes before placing himself in and offensive position, shield in front and sword at his side. "I shall pass
my attack to you again, good sir." he states proudly, waiting for the young lad to gather his weapon and attack.

The noise from the crowd coalesces into a steady chant again as Beltaur waits for the other man to recover his weapon. "Beltaur... Beltaur..." The other side of the crowd watches to see what will happen, but the wind is blown out of their sails. Near silence reigns on that side of the ring.

The sword spings in the air. Rainsing his hand, Breanir cathches the sword as it approched him. He grimaces from the impact of the hilt in his hand. He looks at his opponent bring his sowrd up and pauses for a second. The weapon slowly comes down, pointing to the guard, and a smile is formed on Breanir's face. "Nay! The fight is over. You have defeated it
me fairly and I will honor that."he bows low, and then adds "but be sure that next time we meet I will not make the same mistake." The young noble then turns to the Amrukkad,and says as he shealths his dumb sword "I acknowldge my self defeated by a greater swordsman, my Lord, and I step down."

Amrukhad stands and applauds the young man's decision, and there are cheers and jeers from around the ring as the adjutants come out to collect the swords for the next pair of combatants.

Standing up, Shayla smiles a little and says, "Indeed, that was a good battle... but..." She grins a little as she picks up a stick from the ground and walks a little closer to Beltaur, just staying off the battle ground, "How good can you match against a dagger?" She smirks, and winking a little playfully, she smiles to Beltaur.

Beltaur bows to Breanir as he speaks of defeat, "Well done, Sir Breanir. Mayhaps we might spar again some time." A small grin plays his face as he fondles his sword around in his hand before he is holding it with the hilt facing the approaching ward who is fetching
the swords. He willingly hands it over and recieves his sword back from the man and sheaths it, turning back to Breanir, "Twas a good match, m'Lord...No hard feelings." He bows again, then to Amrukhad.